


Side By Side In Orbit

by Kerkerian_StopYulin



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Humour, M/M, Turns out there are things Sherlock can't do, some Johnlock Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-05
Updated: 2014-07-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 14:06:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1901835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian_StopYulin/pseuds/Kerkerian_StopYulin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a heatwave, John discovers that there is one thing which Sherlock has never learned. Naturally, the good doctor wants to teach him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Side By Side In Orbit

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own Sherlock.
> 
> This story was written last summer and is set some time after Sherlock's return (the first one).  
> Enjoy!

 

 

**Side By Side In Orbit**

 

Sherlock has a bad feeling about this.

Due to his job and his lifestyle he is used to negotiating difficult situations, to say the least, and in general he isn't easily intimidated. But this feels like it's going to be beyond his control, and he doesn't like the notion. Or maybe it's the place itself, reminiscent of one of the most unpleasant moments Sherlock has ever experienced.

John however is relaxed, even smiling at his partner's doubtful face: "Come on, buckle up." he teases. "We'll go in at the shallow end, okay?"

Sherlock crosses his arms, not at all comfortable with wearing next to nothing in a public building: "It's not one of your best ideas to do this in a deserted pool at night."

At least the lights are on though, and apart from that this pool looks nothing like the one he had chosen as a meeting point with Moriarty.

John raises his eyebrows:"It's not deserted, only closed to the public after nine p.m. You didn't want an audience, if I'm not very much mistaken."

Sherlock huffs: "A lifeguard might have been a good idea, however."

"I am qualified as one," John reminds him, patiently, "I have shown you my certificate, remember?"

"Yes, and it's dated back from twenty years ago."

"I'll still be able to haul your sorry a- I mean, I won't let you drown."

With another smile full of affection John closes the distance between them: "You do trust me, don't you?" he asks, leaning in a for a kiss. Sherlock grumbles against John's lips: "That's emotional blackmail."

"No," John gently rubs the tip of his nose against Sherlock's before pulling back: "That's gentle persuasion."

Sherlock fixes John with a stern glare, but follows him to the shallow end of the pool, still somewhat reluctantly.

* * *

The heatwave is to blame. England is suffering from one of the driest summers since 2003, and the heat is unforgiving. It turns the air outside into a solid wall of warmth, making breathing unpleasant and moving even more so. Inside of Baker Street 221B it is very warm as well, the coolest spot being the bathroom.

John and Sherlock have taken to wearing only their underpants and t-shirts at home (sometimes only their underpants, at least as long as Mrs Hudson isn't around), and the nights are spent waiting for the cooler hours of the early morning, which are a little more bearable than the rest of the days.

 _It_ started three days ago, late in the evening. Both men were exhausted; after the last case, it seemed that even the criminals had decided to take a break, which John was secretly grateful for. Sherlock had not slept for days, and he was rather weary altogether. The heat didn't grant him any proper rest, however, making him snappy and irritable, which was why the doctor had come up with an idea.

"Let's take a few days off," John murmured, carding his fingers through a sleepy Sherlock's hair while they were lying on the detective's bed. "We could go to the coast, spend some time on the beach. Go swimming."

Sherlock wrinkled his nose: "I don't want to go to the beach."

"Why not?"

"I don't like it."

"The beach or swimming?"

"Both."

"Why not?"

"You're repeating yourself."

"I'm waiting for an answer."

"The sea is too unpredictable."

" _Too_... you mean because you can't _deduce_ it?"

"Exactly. You never know what it's up to. Spring tides, freak waves... the like."

"It's probably the only time I can say this, but you're talking utter nonsense, Sherlock. Come on, what's the real reason?"

"I don't even have the proper attire for the beach."

"... All you need are your swimming trunks and a towel."

"I don't have swimming trunks."

"Really? Why not?"

"John-"

But John was propping himself up on his elbow in order to regard Sherlock more closely: "Sherlock- you _can_ swim, can't you?"

Sherlock immediately flushed a bright red. "As a matter of fact, I can't," he said, drawing out the last word, quickly adding,"and _don't_ ask why."

John opened his mouth and closed it again. This was unexpected. As far as he knew, Sherlock could ski and ride on horseback; swimming was one thing John would have put down as a standard skill for him.

"You were never taught how to swim, not even at that posh school of yours? How did that happen?"

"I was taught fencing and archery," Sherlock replied, a little defensively.

"Well, then," John said once he had recovered from his surprise, "I can teach you."

"There's no need," Sherlock said, obstinately, "I am fine with not being able to swim, thank you."

"Nonsense," John shook his head, "what if you fall into the Thames again?"

"I didn't _fall_ last time, I was pushed."

"And you'd probably have drowned if I hadn't thrown you a rope." John's face was serious now, because Sherlock's revelation shed a whole new light on the episode: "If you don't want to do it for your own safety, at least consider it for my sake."

Of course, there it was again- Sherlock and John were in a _relationship_ now. Sherlock was officially not allowed to only think of himself anymore, which he sometimes found amusing and sometimes irritating.

There hadn't been that many changes in the way they were behaving around each other, because their bond had already been strong before, but things like these made it clear that Sherlock wasn't solely responsible for his own welfare now. John obviously expected him to care as much the doctor did himself, now that their future was irrevocably linked together. And his body wasn't only his transport anymore, something it had taken Sherlock some time to come to terms with; there were closeness and intimacy, and at times, it was a source of comfort for John.

Sherlock was still a little baffled that he could provide it, without words even, just by putting his arms around the other and holding him tightly. And he had realized that he wasn't as averse to it as he'd expected, on the contrary; it was rather agreeable to hold John in his arms and be held in return. All in all, being in a relationship was surprisingly pleasant, and he knew that he didn't want to lose that again.

So he had reluctantly agreed to learn how to swim.

They had gone shopping for swimming trunks on the following morning; Sherlock had been recalcitrant throughout, but in the fifth shop they had found one pair which he had deemed passable, if only just. John hadn't really seen a difference to the other 27 or so which had already been tried on, but then he possibly wasn't the best of judges in that matter; to him, Sherlock 'd even look perfect in a potato sack.

To the doctor's surprise, the pair of shorts Sherlock chose was brightly turquoise with red drawstrings and buttons. Not what he'd have expected. He found it rather difficult to hide his amusement, but for the sake of getting it over with he managed. At least the shops were air-conditioned.

* * *

Yet now that they are at the pool, Sherlock seems to have second thoughts. He eyes the water suspiciously: "Seriously, I might be fine with some dog paddling if I'll ever get pushed in again," he says, dismissively, and makes to turn around.

John catches him by the waistband of his newly acquired pants: "At least give it a try," he says, gently pulling him back.

The water is pleasantly cool and only reaches up to Sherlock's midriff. John takes his hand, squeezing it reassuringly, and slowly wades towards the deeper area, pulling Sherlock with him. When Sherlock is submerged to his shoulders and John to his chin, he stops.

"How does that feel?" he asks.

Sherlock rolls his eyes: "Fine." He likes how smooth the water feels on his skin, the way it smells.

"Okay. I'm going to let go of your hand now. Spread your arms and try to support yourself like this, without your legs."

Sherlock does as he says, bending his knees ever so slightly, and suddenly he's floating. It's not in the least intimidating to lose his footing because he can easily remedy the situation.

"See," John nods, "you're moving your arms instinctively to hold yourself in place. There's no way you'd simply go down."

"If that is supposed to make me feel safe-" Sherlock begins, but John interrupts him: "Patience, my dear," he says, grinning, and earns himself a scowl. "Now I want you to lift your legs and lean backwards until you're floating. I'll put my hand under your back to support you."

Sherlock wouldn't admit it, but John's hand is an immense relief. It's strange to lie in the water like that, and he doesn't like the way his ears are being flooded when he tips his head back too far, making him momentarily deaf. Despite the general warmth, he briefly shivers once he is mostly submerged. But he quickly adjusts to the all-engulfing coolness, and when he stretches, he can feel that the surface is actually is carrying him. Even though his usual equilibrium is overthrown by this altering of balance points, the fact that he can hold himself afloat is strangely rewarding. It seems as though he's weightless.

All is well until he realizes that John's hand is gone. He squirms and can't find the right position anymore, and suddenly he is beneath the surface. Instinctively, he pushes upwards; spluttering, he comes up and soon finds his footing, furiously wiping the water from his eyes.

John is laughing: "Relax. You managed not to drown, after all."

"You said I wouldn't simply go down. But I just did!"

"Because you were surprised, and you momentarily panicked."

"I did _not_ panic! You could have warned me, though."

"You need to learn to use your reflexes."

"Is this how you'd teach a child to swim?"

"No. But you're not a child, you're Sherlock Holmes. Now try it again."

Sherlock huffs, but soon has found back into his former position. John swims around him with a few powerful strokes, and Sherlock manages to keep himself in place even though the surface begins to undulate ever so slightly.

"Okay," John says, after a while. "Let's try something else."

* * *

"No. Absolutely not."

"It's going to be helpful."

"I refuse."

"Sherlock, no one is going to see you."

"I will not use this... thing."

"It's a kickboard."

"It's a disgrace."

"What, just because it's pink? That hasn't stopped you before."

"Haha, very funny. It's for children, John."

"It's for people who are learning how to swim. I want you to practise how to move your legs before we try breaststrokes."

He is met by a disgruntled silence.

"Sherlock..."

"Fine. Give it here." Sherlock all but snatches the board from John's hand. "Now what."

Patience, John reminds himself, patience. "You hold on to the board with both hands, it will keep you afloat. With your legs, you make the movements I have just shown you."

Grumbling, Sherlock begins to do as John said.

"Slowly," the doctor advises, "concentrate on the motion, speed doesn't matter."

Even though Sherlock'd never admit it, the flotation device works rather well. It's got enough buoyancy for him to be able to focus on his legs.

"Bored," he announces after two rounds.

John grins: "Keep going, Sherlock."

"Dull." But he doesn't stop.

After a few more rounds, John joins him: "Swim with me," he says, and together, they make their way over to the deep end. Sherlock can feel every muscle in his legs, it seems, but it actually feels good to propel himself through the water.

 

When they have reached the far side, John stops, and Sherlock allows his body to sink deeper into the water, firmly holding on to the styrofoam.

"I am going to take the board," John says, "and you are going to spread your arms again and hold yourself up, just like before."

Wordlessly, Sherlock lets go of the board and gently pushes it towards John. It's a little unsettling, to put it mildly, to know that this time, he can't simply stretch his legs and stand. However, his arms are carrying him. Instinctively, his feet join in and help, and he is astounded by how calm he is. It is a rather tranquil moment, and Sherlock thinks he can now begin to understand why people go swimming in their leisure time.

John watches him closely, a smile on his features that even makes up for Sherlock's meanwhile shrivelly fingertips. After what might have been a few minutes of silent water-treading, the doctor slowly drifts closer to the detective until they are only an inch apart:"You're doing well."

"You are stating the obvious," Sherlock replies, but a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

John slides his arms around Sherlock, pulling him against his own body: "Sassy git," he mutters.

It is a whole new sensation to be this close to John in such a situation, weightless, almost naked but still hidden from each other's view. It's completely different than showering together (which does have an undeniable appeal); there's a distinct difference between the temperature of the water around him and that of John's body, causing shivers to run down his spine when John reinforces his grip and leans in for a kiss, taking advantage of their heads being at the same height.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sherlock is able to appreciate the moment because it undeniably is romantic. Maybe a deserted pool at night isn't as objectionable as he first thought. He feels safe in John's arms, knowing that his partner is not going to let anything happen to him. John is strong and marvellous and welcoming; the abyss underneath them is not nearly as threatening anymore.

"I love you," Sherlock murmurs between watery kisses, his voice as deep as it gets. He doesn't say that very often, which makes it all the more precious.

"I love you, too," John replies, gently rubbing the tip of his nose against Sherlock's just as he has done earlier,"especially when you're this close."

* * *

Due to those rather sweet final notes and the fact that Sherlock has neither drowned nor announced his resolution to discontinue the lessons, John decides to count the evening as successful.

Later, they lie next to each other on Sherlock's bed, their hair still damp, their skin still pleasantly cool; only their fingertips are touching.

"So? What's the verdict?" John asks, a keen edge in his tone. He really wants to know, he isn't one to gloat.

"I liked it," Sherlock murmurs. "Especially the ending."

John chuckles: "I take it we're going again tomorrow?"

"Yes." Sherlock turns towards him and gently splays his long fingers on John's abdomen, savouring the softness of the skin. "I want to be _afloat_ with you much more often."

John, happily ignoring that this is not why they went in the first place, regards Sherlock with a fond look: "I'm glad," he murmurs, his eyes drinking in the sight in front of him, "does that mean that we're going to the beach together?"

Sherlock sighs theatrically: "If you insist."

"Good."

"As long as it isn't too crowded."

"Hm."

"Better find something remote."

"Yes, lets. We could go skinny-dipping."

"I don't want to go skinny-dipping."

"Come to think of it, we should go to France. I hear that nudism is rather popular there..."

"I don't want to go skinny-dipping."

"Maybe the south of Brittany."

" _Or_ we could stay at home."

"Just joking, Sherlock."

"Idiot."

"Love you too."

 

**The End**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> The title is taken from R.E.M.'s Nightswimming. Oh, and I'm not a native English speaker, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> Please leave some feedback.


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